‘He has his hidden side; don’t all of you!’ scoffed Maia. ‘I was about to mention the incident, when Anacrites actually brought the subject up himself. Apologised. According to him it was “an administrative mistake”. Then he pleaded his injury, said he couldn’t remember properly. He tried to make me sorry for him by telling me how tired he had been, how he had to cover that up so he didn’t lose his job, how he had lost years of his life through being bludgeoned . . . Anyway—and this is what I wanted to tell you, Marcus—Anacrites seemed mainly interested in that case he’s taken off you,’ said Maia. ‘The warty melon kept trying to extract from me just what you and Lucius have found out.’

‘And you said . . . ?’

‘I had nothing to tell him. You know Lucius.’

Petronius never believed in discussing his work with his womenfolk. Anacrites should have approached Helena instead—she knew everything; not that she would break my confidence. He was too scared of her to attempt it, of course.

Anacrites had upset my sister for nothing. He had angered me too—and if Petro heard about this, he would be livid.

Maia and I agreed that Petronius had better not be told.

27

With Petronius stuck in Rome, grounded by his tribune, I made another trip to the coast.

This time Helena came with me. I took her to see Pa’s maritime villa. I brought Nux as well, since my household was completely ruled by the dog. Luckily tearing through the pinewoods and racing along the beach suited her just fine. Nux was prepared to allow us to keep this wonderful place.

Helena also approved, so we spent several days discussing how to arrange things to suit us, turning the house into a seaside family home rather than a businessman’s retreat. While we were working, some of the slaves reported a man hanging around in the woods. He was a stranger to them, but from their description, I wondered if it was one of Anacrites’ agents.

We knew a woman who lived with the priestesses at a temple in Ardea. Driving off with a deal of commotion, Helena went to visit her. I stayed at the villa; I made myself visible shifting furniture and artwork to outbuildings, then spent time loafing on a daybed on the shore while the dog brought driftwood to me. The mysterious sightings stopped. I hoped the agent had gone back to Rome to report that I was at the coast for domestic reasons.

It would be typical of Anacrites to waste time and resources. He should have been pursuing the Claudii. Instead he was obsessed with Petro and me. He knew us well; he knew we would try to pip him on the case. But that cut both ways. We understood him too.